


Kidnapped

by Blondie54x



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/pseuds/Blondie54x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young man is kidnapped by two UNCLE agents believing he is someone else.  It has to be a mistake, surely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kidnapped

 

_Paris, Texas_

Spring. How I relished days like this, days that still held a faint chill left over from winter. Sunshine and a cool zephyr bringing the whiff of pine. They reminded me of somewhere, a place left over from a past I no longer remembered. A past lost to me following an unfortunate accident. A past that, no matter how I try, will never be reclaimed. All I’ve been left with are vague echoes, tenuous shadows that have no form or substance, a memory that has more holes than Swiss cheese.

My name is Piotyr Mikhailovich Bukolov and I spend my days wondering who I had once been, and with as much chance of recalling my past as I had of regaining my youth. It was frustrating and irritating, but most annoying of all was my reliance on Viktor. Like myself, Viktor Vladimirovich Zhukov was a Russian emigrant – two Russians traveling around the United States of America, for he’s a restless soul, Viktor, constantly moving us from one hotel to another, one town to another, one county to another. Forever living out of a suitcase. For some reason, this is familiar to me.

He’s good to me and I want for nothing. He pays all the bills, buys what I need; clothes, books, magazines.   I asked him once about the source of his funds. Stocks and bonds, had been his simple reply, with no further explanation. It told me nothing about him, and any other questions I had were redirected with the patience of a father. That’s how I thought of Viktor, as some kind of paternal figure, though I suspected his feelings went deeper than companionship. He’s never made improper advances to me, not really, but the way he looks at me sometimes leaves me in no doubt that he has more than friendship on his mind. He fusses over me constantly, making sure I’m dressed appropriately before venturing outside, making sure I take my medication on time, and when I’m under the weather, he sits with me, holding my hand and talking about inconsequential things.

Why the over-solicitous attitude? I’ve been ill, still am, in fact. Some days I can barely lift my head from the pillow. Viktor has taken care of me, ever since the accident that robbed me of my long-term memory. He ensures all my needs are met. Viktor, however, is attentive to the point of being smothering, at times irritatingly so, and I took a guilty pleasure in being able to slip the leash occasionally, always with some poor excuse. I suspect he allowed me the delusion that I had successfully deceived him – my excuses were poor and unimaginative. At times, I felt we were both playing a game: me, the naughty, scheming child, he, the disapproving but indulgent adult.

Above all, I relished the rare moments of solitude. Like today, I felt the need for space. This time, I’d told him I needed cigarettes, and as the kiosk was on the ground floor of the hotel, he indulgently smiled, slipped me a five dollar bill and allowed me my brief independence.

I left the room of the hotel we were currently staying in and walked down the wide stair case into the lobby. My plan was to buy some cigarettes and slip outside into the gardens to enjoy some time on my own. I think I must be solitary by nature. When I’m alone, I am calm and at peace.

I purchased my cigarettes at the counter, and as I turned, bumped into a dark-haired, handsome man. His smile was friendlier than it should have been for a stranger, and it made me uncomfortable, for despite the holes in my memory, I know this much; I find both men and women attractive, though I haven’t acted on those attractions. Not yet. At least, not since I can remember. I side stepped him as he apologized and headed outside toward the gardens.

I found an unoccupied bench and sat, resting my head back to feel the sun on my face. Nearby I could hear the chatter of male sparrows competing for the attention of a female, and smiled to myself. The sounds of nature acted as a balm to my nerves. It’s a guilty pleasure, for a part of me feels I should be doing more instead of sitting doing nothing. I know from experience that I’ll not sit here for long. Inactivity makes me jittery.

The sun was suddenly blocked out and I opened my eyes to see the handsome stranger from the kiosk. He smiled that over-friendly smile and said, “Hi. Nice day, isn’t it?”

_American_. They can be so boorish. I didn’t reply, merely glared at him. I wished he’d go away. My time alone was limited; Viktor would come looking for me soon.

Handsome held out a cigarette. “Do you have a light?”

“I don’t smoke,” I lied, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

“You just bought cigarettes,” he pointed out.

“For my friend,” I lied again. Lying came naturally to me, it would seem. Still, I could see he didn’t believe me.

“Well, do you think your friend might have some matches?”

I sighed. I’m inherently impatient, it would seem. There was only one way to get rid of this pest, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out a book of matches. I held them out and he took them, his fingers slowing brushing mine, on purpose I’m sure. I looked away from his smiling face. He was obviously after more than a match, and tempting as he was, I had neither the energy nor the inclination. I watched him light up, take a deep drag of the cigarette and open his mouth to allow the smoke to drift out.

He nodded at the bench. “Do you mind if I sit?”

I looked pointedly at an empty bench a few feet away. “Not at all. There’s a seat over there.”

“This one looks nicer,” he said, sitting too close for comfort.

I shuffled away to the end of the bench, putting distance between us. “Americans,” I muttered, intending to insult.

He merely grinned. “What gave it away?”

“Your arrogance.”

He just smiled. Like I said, arrogance. He flicked away the half smoked cigarette. “I thought we could have a chat?”

I sighed inwardly. I could see where this was leading and decided to nip it in the bud. “I’m not interested.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“I’m still not interested. Now, if you’ll excuse me...,” I rose from the bench, intending to leave. There was something unsettling about this man. Something that gave me goose bumps.

As I stood, he rose quickly and moved nearer. “What’s your hurry?”

“My friend will be wondering where I am.” I tried to sidestep him, but he was faster and blocked my path.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?”

This encounter was starting to unnerve me. “No. I have to get ba--”

Something hard poked me in the ribs and I looked down at the gun-metal gray of a weapon. When I looked up, he was smiling that smug smile.

“I’m sorry. I really must insist.” He nodded towards the car park. “That way. Don’t think about making any sudden moves. And you can put your hands down.”

Silly of me. My hands had risen, just like I’d seen people in similar situations in the movies. It seemed the thing to do. I put my arms down and started to walk in the direction he’d indicated, amazed at how calm I felt. I was being kidnapped, but who was this man and what did he want. Did they think Viktor had money? Was I to be ransomed?

I walked in the direction he’d indicated, and he followed me closely, to the left and just a little behind. In the car park, he guided me with his hand on my elbow, pushing me towards a black sedan sitting a few yards away, its engine idling. A blond haired man lounged against the car’s hood, but he stood as we approached, opening the back door. He gestured me inside and I slid in, already planning my escape in my head: as soon as they were both inside the car, I’d push open the door, jump out and run. Admittedly, it was a simple plan.

How naïve of me. The handles had been removed in the rear of the car. Obviously they had predetermined that I might make such an attempt. This situation was more alarming than I had first thought. Some planning had gone into my kidnapping, which made me realize that this was serious.

I decided to keep my thoughts to myself, but keep an eye open for an opportunity to escape. After all, we had to leave the car at some point.

Handsome slid into the front passenger seat, while his partner in crime got behind the wheel. He drove out of the car park and onto a side street.

“Back to HQ?” the blond one asked.

“No,” Handsome replied, looking thoughtful. “Too soon.   Let’s see if we can make some progress before the shrinks get their hands on him.”

Shrinks! Did they think me some escaped lunatic? “I think there’s been a mistake--”

“How about Six Trees?” Blondie interrupted, as though I hadn’t spoken.

“What’s Six Trees?” I asked, alarmed. It sounded like a sanitarium.

Handsome turned in his seat, giving me a warm smile. “Some place safe, where we can talk.”

“An asylum?”

“No, an Uncle safe house.”

“Uncle? Uncle who?”

He gave me that warm smile again. “Uncle Alex.”

I was no wiser and shook my head in confusion. “I don’t know any Uncle Alex. You’ve made a mistake. You have the wrong man.”

“I can assure you we haven’t.” He turned away, facing forward again, addressing his companion this time. “I’ll let April know. She can meet us there.” He took a pen from his pocket and started talking to it. And he thought I was the mad man!

I let my gaze wander to the outside world, watching as the scenery sped by, changing from suburban to rural within the next hour. Fields stretched out on either side, and we drove on till we reached a wooded area. In the driver’s seat, Blondie changed down a gear, then another, slowing the car to take a track that disappeared amongst the trees.

We all sat in silence, my thoughts were on my escape when we reached our destination and their thoughts... well, who knew what they were thinking. I can only think of two reasons I might be kidnapped; for ransom money, or... well, the other reason didn’t bear thinking about. Either way, I had no intention of making it easy for them.

The trees opened up into a clearing, in the middle of which stood an old farm-house. Under other circumstances, I might have appreciated the beauty of the place. The surrounding gardens were immaculately kept and colorful in full bloom. As we approached, an auburn haired woman opened the door and stepped out into the sun.

As we pulled up, her eyes looked directly into mine and she smiled. I glared back at her, not in the mood for acting the gentleman. Anyone in league with these two was to be treated with contempt. I looked away, casting my eyes over the area opposite the house. If I had the chance, perhaps I could run for the trees. I was a good runner. Viktor and I often jogged in the early hours of the morning, before most people were up and about. He liked to keep fit, but he didn’t like to mingle with the crowds.

Blondie turned off the engine and put the car in park. I waited – as if I had a choice – while he exited the car and opened the door for me, gesturing for me to get out. I put my foot down on the gravel, bracing my hands on either side of the open door, mentally planning my dash across the flower beds and into the trees.

Before I could take a step, something metallic snapped onto my wrist. A handcuff – I was dismayed to see the other end of it attached to Handsome’s wrist. He smiled at me. “Just in case you had a notion to go for a run.”

“Thought never crossed my mind,” I muttered back. Seemed he’d thought of everything. Still, the cuffs had to come off at some time, unless he planned to stick by my side for the foreseeable future. So, I had no choice but to follow where he led, Blondie close on my heels. Red had already gone back inside and I heard her call from another room, “I’ve made coffee.” How deceptively domestic.

“Thanks,” Blondie called back.

But Handsome said, “Let’s get him settled in first.” He tugged on the cuff. “This way.”

I followed him up the stairs, passing a couple of closed doors before we reached the one at the end of the hallway. He pushed the door open and gestured for me to enter. “After you.”

I poked my head around the door, almost disappointed at its benign appearance. I’m not sure what I expected – chains and manacles? Bars at the windows? Perhaps a rack in one corner to force my confession? Confess to what, though? Maybe there was something in my past I’d done, that I had no memory of. Fools. Didn’t they realise I was in no position to tell them anything?

What confronted me in the room was almost a disappointment. Instead of the expected torture chamber, the furnishings were twee, with a faint smell of lavender. A large old fashioned bed on one side of the room, with a heavy oak dresser opposite and a small writing desk and chair in one corner. There was a door off to one side, which I assumed was an en suite bathroom.

I felt a gentle nudge in my back urging me into the room. With the three of us inside, Blondie closed the door, resting his back against it, his arms folded over his chest and his head cocked to one side watching me. He reminded me of a guard dog. This much I do remember; I hate dogs.

Handsome produced a key from somewhere. “I’m taking these off now. Are you going to behave?”

“Of course,” I answered sweetly, if not altogether honestly. The cuffs came off and I rubbed dramatically at my wrist.

“Why don’t we get comfortable?” He gestured towards a chair. My mind raced as I turned towards it and something, some form of self-preservation clicked into place. I spun as I heard someone come up behind me, kicking my leg high and into Blondie’s mid-section. He grunted and doubled over, but before I could turn my attention to Handsome, he’d grabbed hold of my arm. I was spun around and found my arm locked behind my back, his arm around my throat. I kicked back, aiming for a knee, and connected hard. His hold relaxed a little as he cried out. “Sonova…. Illya!”

Blondie was back on his feet and wrapping himself around my legs. I felt myself falling, taking Handsome with me.

I panted with the exertion. Over the months, I’d tried to keep fit, despite my constant exhaustion, and I knew my body was still muscular. I’d stared many nights at my own reflection in the dress mirror. Not out of vanity, but out of curiosity – my own reflection was a stranger to me. I was well muscled, though not overly so, and I was scarred. Some of it was fairly recent, scars from the accident, Viktor explained. Some scars were older, broad silver ribbons that had stretched with my skin as I’d grown into manhood. Childhood scars that Viktor had no explanation for.

They wrestled me onto the bed and the cuff was snapped back onto my wrist. This time, though, the other end was attached to the wrought iron bed frame. While I was busy tugging at the restraint, Handsome did likewise with my other wrist. Any hope I’d harbored of escaping were disappearing fast. I felt vulnerable, but most of all I felt angry. They jumped back away from me as I lashed out with my feet. I watched with some satisfaction as Handsome had to reorder his immaculate hair back into place. I glared up at him and, curiously, he half smiled. He dropped down into the chair, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees as he studied me intently, while the blond started to rummage in a bag on top of the desk.

Defiantly, I turned my head away. “This will do you no good,” I said. “Viktor is not a rich man.” Even as I said it, though, I suspected that Viktor would pay whatever they asked.

“We’re not after his money.”

I looked back at him. “Then what are you after?”

He sat back, crossing a leg over one knee. “You.”

His partner in crime turned from his bag search, a syringe in one hand. This didn’t look good. I jerked away as he took a step towards me. Handsome stood, saying, “You ready?” Then suddenly he was lying across me, holding me down. I bucked, but he was too strong and I wasn’t strong enough, and in no position to defend myself.

“Take it easy,” the blond said. “I just need a blood sample. I’ll try to be as quick as I can.” I forced myself to relax as the needle slipped into my skin – there was no sense in causing myself some damage. I felt the needle retract and Blondie quickly put a bandaid on the site of the injection, before saying, “Done!”

Blondie and Handsome jumped quickly away and I tried to catch one of them with my foot, but missed.

Handsome had the gall to laugh at my effort. “You’re a vicious brute, Illya Nicovetch,” he said, grinning down at me.

“Why are you calling me that?” I asked, confused. “I thought that was his name,” I said, tipping my chin towards Blondie.

He looked puzzled for a second, then comprehension dawned on his face. “Ah, earlier. No, I was shouting at you.”

“My name is Piotyr Mikhailovich Bukolov.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

“You’ve made a mistake.”

“No mistake, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

He smiled. “Are you so sure about that?”

“Yes,” I snarled at him. I looked at the bandaid. “Do you have any more nasty surprises?”

“No, we’re pretty much done with the physical stuff. All that’s left is the talking.”

I watched as Blondie carefully wrapped the vial of blood and stowed it into a bag. “Why don’t you start by telling me who you two are?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He nodded. “Okay. My friend over there is Mark,” he said, gesturing to his comrade. “And my name is Napoleon.”

Napoleon? I smiled, despite the situation. “So, you’re the Emperor and he’s... what? The King of England.”

I watched the blond bristle, folding his arms defensively over his chest. “I know your memory isn’t what it should be at the moment, but there’s a Queen, not a King, on the throne. And she’s no relation.” He looked thoughtful a moment. “Though I do have a cousin in the Household Guards.”

“And my name really is Napoleon. No relation, either. Just a mother with a sense of humor.”

I returned my attention to this Napoleon fellow. “Did she give you a surname?”

“No, my father did.”

Blondie... Mark was slipping on a jacket. “I’d better get this blood sample over to Spencer. Maybe he’ll find something that can help.” He reached for the door handle, then turned back towards me. “Oh, and Illya, try not to say anything you might regret once you get your memory back.”

Then he was gone, leaving this Napoleon and me alone together. I studied my feet, refusing to be the first one to break the sudden silence.

After a while, Napoleon cleared his throat. “Now, where were we?”

I considered not answering – I was feeling obstinate – but curiosity got the better of me. Besides, I felt that any information I might glean might be useful. Perhaps I might play his game. Perhaps I could tell him what he wanted to hear in order to secure my release. “You were telling me your full name.”

“Why don’t we stick to first names for now?”

“Why?”

“Because I know how sly you can be. You’re likely to pretend you have your memory back, just to get free. Once I hear you say my full name, I’ll know it’s really you.”

He was smart, I had to admit. I sighed. “Fine. So... tell me who you think I am.”

He looked away, as if considering my question. “Well, you’re an agent with the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. One of the best, in fact.”

“And you are an agent for this organisation?”

“Yes. As is Mark and April, the woman you met downstairs.”

“And what is it I do for this organisation? Am I a spy?”

He smiled warmly. “The best, tovarisch.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “And you expect me to believe this? An American and a Russian working together? My memory may be bad, but I do know our two countries are not the best of friends.”

He was shaking his head. “UNCLE is a multi-national organisation. We have operatives from all over the world. Mr Wa... Our superior fought long and hard to get a representative from the Soviet Block.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Nevertheless, it’s true.”

None of this made any sense. “Why are you doing this? Why are you going to so much trouble to convince me I’m someone I’m not?”

He ran a hand through his immaculate hair. “Because you and I are partners, have been for the last two years.”

Two years? Shouldn’t I feel something then? Some sense of familiarity?

He continued. “And because I know how much you hate doctors prodding and poking at you, and if I allow Spencer to have his way with an arsenal of blood tests... well let’s just say, when your memory comes back, I’ll be the one to suffer the consequences.”

“My memory will never come back. After the accident--”

“There was no accident.”

“Of course there was. I have the scars to prove it.”

He was shaking his head. “No, tovarisch. There was no accident. Your scars are the result of a mission that almost ended your life. What you’ve been told is a lie.”

A lie? I smirked at him. “And you are telling me the truth. A complete stranger.”

He sighed deeply. “We’re not strangers, you and I.”

“I’ve never met you before.”

“Are you sure of that?”

Of course I wasn’t sure. I had nothing to base my assertions on. No memory, no feelings. Nothing.

He continued. “How do you know we haven’t met? If you believe you’ve lost your long term memory.”

He had a point. He could have been my brother, for all I knew. My memory only stretched as far back as the last three months. Viktor had told me everything I knew. But if my mind had been a blank slate, anyone could write my history for me, anyway they saw fit. It was a discomforting thought, that I was living a lie. How would I know what was fact and what was fiction? I felt anger bubble to the surface. Someone was playing fast and loose with my mind, but who and for what purpose?

I shook my head. “No. My name is Piotyr Mikhailovich Bukolov

He shook his head sadly. “Oh, Illya, how can I convince you?”

“You can’t. So, why don’t you let me go? I promise I won’t bring charges against you. You can go your way and I’ll go mine.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I’ve been searching for you a long time. I know I can make you believe me.”

And just as equally I knew he couldn’t.   But for a moment I was caught in those pleading eyes, deep and sad. I took pity on him. “Look, perhaps I bear a passing resemblance to this man. Perhaps you’ve been given the wrong information--”

“No, no, no,” he muttered into his hands. He rubbed them wearily over his face and looked up.

He pulled the chair nearer. A little trusting of him, I thought, but he’d piqued my interest. I was curious to hear what he had to say.

“Listen to me,” he demanded. “Your name is Illya Nicovetch Kuryakin,” he said, punching each word out passionately.

“No. My name is Piotyr --”

“No! Your name is Illya Kuryakin. It always has been; it always will be!” He combed a hand through his hair, reflecting his obvious frustration. The movement disarrayed that immaculate style, which made me smile once more. My amusement apparently only served to heighten his frustration. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

He suddenly moved from the chair to sit by my side on the bed, moving one hand to rest on my shoulder. He stared intently into my face. “You are Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. My partner, my friend, my....” I wondered what else he’d been about to add. He shook his head. “I know you don’t remember. Viktor did something to you, drugged you, hypnotized you. Something.” His grip on my shoulder tightened as he leaned closer. “But I know you,” he said quietly. “I know every inch of you. I know every scar on your body and how you came by it. I know every hair on your stubborn head. You’re Illya. _My_ Illya.” He sat back and I felt strangely sorry that he did. “And you’ll come back to me. If it takes the rest of my life, you’ll come back to me.”

I was stunned by his passionate declaration. Who was this man, this Illya, to rouse such fervent ardor? And what did he mean when he said he knew my scars? How could he have seen them? Was he a doctor, this mad man?

My frustration showed as I snapped at him, “You know nothing about me!”

“I know _everything_ about you. I know your collar size is fifteen, when you can be bothered to wear a shirt. I know your favourite dessert is Kletski and your favourite wine is Merlot. I know you hate dogs, but love cats. I know you like the Beatles, but dislike the Stones. And I know you like to dance when you think no one is watching.”

It was disconcerting, having him list my likes and dislikes. I scowled at him. “You forgot my favourite color.”

“Black. Though you keep telling me it’s not a color.”

I looked down at my outfit; a black turtle neck sweater over black pants. No guess work involved there. And it would be easy to find out my preferences when it came to food and drink. But how could he know that I liked to dance? It’s a guilty pleasure that embarrasses me and something I indulge in only in my most private moments.

It was puzzling. I felt myself being drawn into his delusion. It was getting hard to think straight. My head was pounding. I wasn’t sure how long it had been since my abduction, but I knew I was overdue in taking my pills.

“How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“As long as it takes.”

I growled in irritation. “I’m on medication. I need my medication.” And I needed it now. Already my temperature had started to rise. I could feel my face burning and perspiration was making me uncomfortably sticky. “Please,” I pleaded.

I hated the whiney sound of my voice, but Viktor had made me all too aware of the consequences of not sticking to my regime - seizures, followed by several days of nausea and migraine-like headaches. I really needed those pills. Already my body was beginning to tremble. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart.

I felt his hand on my brow and it felt like a branding iron against my fevered skin. I jerked my head away. I opened my eyes to give him the full effect of my glare, but what I saw in his face surprised me. My kidnapper, this total stranger to me, was looking at me with genuine concern. And something else, something I couldn’t define.

“You’re burning up.” He turned and went through a door at the end of the room. I heard a tap running and seconds later he was back, and placing a damp towel on my brow. My instinct was to retreat from it, but its coolness was too seductive. I closed my eyes and relished the feel of the wet material drawing the heat from my face.

My body began to tremble and twitch and I knew this was only the start of my problems. I wasn’t looking forward to what was to come if I didn’t take my medication. My mind was already starting to feel fuzzy. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m sorry. I really am.” And he looked it. “But you’re strong, you can get past this.”

Strong? I was as weak as a new-born babe. Why couldn’t he see that? I could hardly lift my head from the pillow. Not that I wanted to – that just made the headache worse. The handcuffs started to rattle against the frame as my shaking increased. “Please... “ I begged. “I can’t.”

He put a hand on each side of my face, trying to make eye contact. “Trust me, Illya, you can do this. You’ve been through worse.”

I heard a door opening somewhere and footsteps clattering up the stairs. My captor went to the door and pulled it open.

“Mark. Anything?” he asked as the blond man slipped into the room.

“Not yet. Spencer’s running some tests, said he’d call as soon as he gets the results.” I saw him glance over at me. “How’s it going?”

“Nothing yet, except he’s developed a temperature and the shakes. It could be the withdrawal of the drugs.”

Of course it was, I wanted to shout, but it came out as a groan. I was beginning to feel nauseous as well as shaky, and suddenly, keeping the contents of my stomach where they were seemed important.

“Dr. Jackson’s here. He’s waiting in the kitchen. Maybe he should take a look at him.”

Napoleon pulled on his lip, chewing over the information. What was there to decide? I needed a doctor, or would, if I didn’t get my medication.

I felt myself groan with frustration as he shook his head and said, “Not yet. You know how he hates doctors. Let’s give it a bit more time.”

Time? Did I look like I needed time? My temperature was fluctuating and suddenly fever turned to a chill. I shook the towel from my forehead and tried to inform him of the change. “C..c.. cold....” One word, all I could manage.

I felt something being draped over me and opened my eyes to see my captor in his shirt-sleeves. His jacket, still warm from his body, was draped over my chest. The bed dipped as he sat by my side, resting a warm hand on my forehead. “Mark, get another blanket. Take one off the bed next door.” He waited till his friend left, then leaned closer to me. “Hang on, love. I’m here for you.”

I know I was losing my perspective on reality, but did I hear right? Did he call me ‘love’?

However, I couldn’t keep the thought of what he said in my mind. After a while, I felt myself slipping in and out of consciousness. I was dreaming, strange images of snow and fields, corridors and steel. I wasn’t sure what was dream and what was reality. In my dreams was the shadow of a man, always out of reach and on the periphery of my vision. When I occasionally drifted out of the fog of sleep, my captor, Napoleon, was sitting nearby, always watching.

Eventually, I must have fallen into deep slumber, for hours later, I awoke to the sound of birdsong. Daylight streamed through the lace curtains lighting up every aspect of the room. My constant companion was nowhere to be seen.

My head pounded abominably. I tried to rise, forgetting for a moment that I was handcuffed to the bed rail, and flopped back onto the mattress. The previous night’s events came back to me and I groaned in frustration. The room was empty, but the bathroom door was ajar. Where was that man?

“Hey,” I croaked. I coughed to clear my throat and tried again. “Hey!”

His head popped around the door, towel still drying his hands. He threw the towel onto the sink and walked up to the bed. “Morning. How are you feeling?” He approached me cautiously.

“I have a headache,” I snarled. “What have you been doing in there?” I nodded towards the open door.

“In the bathroom? After drinking gallons of coffee to keep me awake? Take a wild guess.”

I put on my best glower. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’ve been preening yourself in front of the mirror. Your vanity will be the death of you, Napoleon Solo.”

It was amusing to watch his face. It took a full two seconds for his features to animate fully, as he realized I’d used his name. Yes, on waking everything – well, almost everything – came back to me, like a dark veil being lifted from my eyes. I remembered it all, from the time I left HQ, till the time I was force fed Viktor’s concoction, and some of what went on between. The knowledge of who I was felt like coming home.

He landed on his knees by the bed, resting his forehead on the mattress. “Thank God,” he muttered.

“Thank him later,” I advised, rattling my restraints. “Get these off me.”

He looked up, a huge grin splitting his face. “Now, that’s my Illya.”

He stood, leaning over me, and paused, key in hand. “You know, when you think about it, this is quite an interesting opportunity we have here.” He tugged gently on the cuffs. “Are you sure you want to waste it?”

“Napoleon,” I replied, as sweetly as I could. “My bladder is at bursting point. Unless you wish to indulge in one of the more deviant sexual practices, I suggest you release me, now.” But as he reached for the first cuff, I said, “Wait.”   He paused and I tilted my face up in invitation, which he took without hesitation. The kiss was passionate, conveying everything words couldn’t. Yes, he’d missed me, that much was evident.

There was a tap at the door and we parted quickly. Mark slipped through the door, a paper sack in his arms. He glanced at me, then at Napoleon. “Anything?”

I could smell the delicious aroma of fresh, warm bagels. “Food!” I exclaimed, as my stomach grumbled loudly.

Mark grinned. “He’s back!”

“Yes, he is.” Napoleon leaned back over the cuffs. “I was, erm, just about to release the beast.”

As the metal fell away, I felt the last vestige of fear melt away, too. I hated being restrained – too many hours spent being tied, chained or handcuffed had left its mark on me.

I rubbed my wrists vigorously, while Napoleon rubbed my neck. As Mark turned away to unload the goods from the sack, I turned my head and gave Napoleon a quick kiss. He grinned back at me like an idiot. Love-struck fool.

Mark left to have his breakfast downstairs with April, leaving Napoleon and I to catch up. We ate in silence, Napoleon rarely taking his eyes off me, afraid, I think, that I might disappear if he did.

After I polished off the last crumb, I leaned back against the headboard and studied my partner fondly. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t too difficult. Zhukov may be intelligent, but he’s not that smart. He left a paper trail across six states, starting at the conference. It was just a matter of time before we caught up.” He moved to sit beside me on the bed. “What do you remember?”

What did I remember? I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, tried to call forth the memories, disjointed and fractured as they were.

I remembered being at a conference in Washington….

“He introduced himself to me and invited me for coffee. I was about to make an excuse, but he said he knew I was with UNCLE. He said he needed to talk, that he had some important information that UNCLE should know. He mentioned Thrush. So I agreed to go with him to a small cafe at the end of the street. He seemed harmless enough.” I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to call forth the memories. “He ordered coffee for us both, then took a file from his briefcase. He was passing it to me when the coffee arrived. A paper slipped onto the floor and I bent over to pick it up. That must have been when he slipped the drug into my drink....

_The world tilted on its axis. The waiter’s concerned voice asked, “Hey, is your friend okay?”_

_“Just too much to drink. I’d hoped the coffee would sober him up, but....”_

_“He doesn’t look too good.”_

_“No. I should get him out of here.” A hand tightly gripping his upper arm. “Would you help? I have a car just outside.”_

_The surroundings continued to spin, but the air seemed brighter, noisier. A car door opened and he landed on a cushioned surface, grateful for an anchor in the shifting world. Someone leaned over him. He flinched as something pricked his skin._

“That’s all I remember. Till now.” I looked at Napoleon. “Where is Viktor?”

“We’re holding him in a detention cell back at H.Q.”

I nodded. “I need to talk to him.” I needed some answers.

“I figured you would. Whoa, wait--” He caught hold of me as I rose from the bed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I shrugged. “No time like the present.” But even as I said it, I felt my world tilt slightly. Napoleon pushed me to sit back on the bed.

“You’re in no condition to interrogate someone.”

I looked up at him coyly, knowing he couldn’t resist. “I’ll be fine. If I fall, you’ll catch me.”

I saw him melt – I was ashamed for using such tactics, but Viktor had robbed me of three months of my life and, most heinous of all, deprived me of that time with Napoleon.

Napoleon sighed deeply. “Fine. But don’t make me sorry I agreed to this.”

“No, Napoleon,” I said sweetly.

 

Viktor sat in one of UNCLE’s interrogation rooms, fidgeting in the only chair. As I walked in, he looked pleased to see me. I slammed the door behind me, and he jumped, the pleasure being replaced by wariness. “I... I’m sorry,” he said, before I’d even asked a question.

“Are you?” I let my jacket fall open, allowing him to see my Special. I watched his eyes glance at the weapon, before sweeping back up to my face.

I had only one question to ask. “Why?”

“I needed a test subject.”

In my mind’s eye, I thought back, seeing him nervously approaching me at the conference.

“So you... what? Picked me out from the crowd?”

“No, not exactly.” Viktor ran a hand nervously through his hair. “They did. Thrush. Someone recognized you. They gave me no choice. They said it was too good an opportunity to miss.”

“An opportunity? For what?”

“They wanted a demonstration of my reprogramming techniques.” He fiddled with his hands, picking at his nails. “They told me to tell you Thrush had contacted me, so you’d be interested.” He looked up again. “I’m sorry.”

His apologies were irritating. “That doesn’t explain why you ran, with me in tow.”

He looked up at me. “I hadn’t planned it that way, but that day... at the cafe... It felt good, talking to someone in my own language, someone my intellectual equal. And...”

“And?”

“You seemed... kind.”

I didn’t remember being such. Over the years I’d cultivated my personality to be a barrier of sorts. Tolerant, perhaps, but kind? Not intentionally. Perhaps he mistook my politeness for such. I waited patiently, and my silence forced him to speak.

He scratched at a non-existent spot on the table surface. “After I’d given you the drug, I agreed to meet with their representative. He was to bring along the money, I was to bring you, reconditioned.” He smiled to himself. “I’d already decided I wasn’t going to hand you over. I just couldn’t do it. I took a sedative along to the rendezvous and when he leaned into the car to give me the case, I jabbed it into his arm.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands limp in his lap. “Then I ran. And kept running.”

“Did you have any idea of the danger you were putting us both in?”

“Of course. That’s why I kept us moving, never staying in one place too long. The chances of them finding us were very slim.”

“And yet, you were found. By my partner.”

Viktor frowned. “Yes.”

“Had Thrush found you first, you would be dead by now. We would both be dead.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry--”

“Stop saying that!” I walked around behind him and paused there, out of his sight. I could see him tense, expecting some sort of retribution, I think. But that wasn’t my way. He was a weak man, lonely perhaps, but inherently stupid, despite his obvious intellect. Whatever made him think himself clever enough to outrun Thrush? Or U.N.C.L.E., for that matter.

I walked back to stand silently before him.

“I... I never touched you, you know,” he said, perhaps thinking it would aid his lost cause. “I never would. That wasn’t the reason… I was just lonely. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Someone to care for, someone who depended on me.”

“You kept me drugged.”

“They were harmless sedatives.”

“What about my memories?”

Viktor looked away. “I’m sorry.” He winced, belatedly remembering my earlier remark about apologizing. He looked back, pleading. “I really am! I made sure you had everything you needed. You didn’t want for anything.”

“Except my own life.”

“I could have given you a better one. One free from danger, from pain. I saw your scars and--”

“And what? You felt sorry for me?” I felt my anger rise. My scars were nobody’s business. Even Napoleon didn’t mention them.

“No. It’s difficult for me to explain.” Viktor leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

But in a way, I did. I’d suffered years of loneliness, years of emotional isolation, until… I glanced over to the mirror, knowing my partner would be standing on the other side, offering his silent support. Even so, I hadn’t felt the need to kidnap and drug someone. How low did a person have to get before resorting to such tactics?

“What will happen to me now?” he asked, his face crumpled in misery.

“You’ll be incarcerated.”

I saw his eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Please. Please, I don’t want to lose my freedom.”

I leaned forward, resting my hands against the table. “Like I lost mine? You took three months of my life from me, three months I’ll never get back. You took away my freedom to do as I wished, to be with... those I cared for.” I stood straight. “It’s time to pay the piper.”

Then I turned, the sound of his sobbing shut off as I closed the door.

As I left the interrogation room, Napoleon followed close behind. We took the lift, standing side by side as it made its slow ascent. Napoleon bumped me with his shoulder. “Fancy playing hookey?”

I felt the tension and anger drain from my body. “Don’t you have some reports to write up?”

“I’m the boss. If I say we can take the afternoon off, we can take the afternoon off.”

I smiled. “Is that an order?”

Napoleon shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

The doors opened and we stepped out. I stared straight ahead as we walked. “Just one more thing.”

“Name it.”

“Your place or mine?”

I didn’t have to look to know Napoleon was grinning.

**The End**

 


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